


Missing You

by PursuitOfDiscovery



Series: Two Hundred and Twenty One Baker Streets [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Sherlock AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 10:57:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3247082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PursuitOfDiscovery/pseuds/PursuitOfDiscovery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which John gets Sherlock's possessions after he dies and almost goes crazy trying to hack into his phone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Missing You

John’s eyes raked over the calendar. Thirteen days had gone by. Thirteen days without John yelling at him to stop sabotaging the kitchen, to eat because yes, his brain was an alien species but his body, unfortunately, was human. Praising his extremely clever deductions, even though it stroked his ego to ten-fold. Keeping his behaviour in check at crime scenes, even if John desperately wanted to join him in his child-like glee. He rubbed his eyes, pleading rationality to swell the rising range of emotions he felt when he thought of him. If he were here, John thought guiltily, he wouldn’t have approved of the sentimentality.  
The vibration in his front pocket roused him from his thoughts. A text from Lestrade. What could it possibly be?  
I’ve sent you his things. Don’t dwell on them, yeah?  
And as if on cue, the doorbell rang.

***

There hadn’t been much on him when he…when he had…John couldn’t bring himself to finish that sentence, no matter how much his meddling therapist insisted otherwise. There were only his phone and scraps of paper with his signature scrawl; messy and childish. John forced to place it back in the plastic bag before he started collecting his work and created a fucking shrine. The crinkles at the end of his weary mouth lifted, possibly the first time since he had stood on the paved path, berating himself for not noticing the signs. For fuck’s sake, he had called him a machine, completely oblivious that it might be the last time he would see him.  
John eyed the phone, cautious yet curious. It was obviously password protected and knowing him, it would be the most random sequence known to mankind, yet chosen in such a way that it would be impossible to figure out and ward off everyone. Not that it stopped John from trying. His fingers typed out lazy combinations, all of them resulting in that signature red sign. It wasn’t long before he started with ordered combinations, mentally documenting and methodically working from the standard 0000. It had to be random; he wouldn’t have picked anything that reeked sentiment. He tried for all of five minutes before he tossed it aside and got ready to get the milk. 

***

Over the next two days, John attacked the bloody passcode with any and every combination he could conjure. And every time he got it wrong, there was that fucking “Try again after fucking infinity” that riled him up even more. It became a routine of a sort, a welcome distraction to the heavy weight he coddled in his heart. Jesus, he was becoming even more of a sodding sentimental fool than he thought.

***

Each day brought forth a torrent of combinations and an increasingly angry John, not to mention the over-coloured language that graced 221B.  
“John dear, is this really necessary? How about a cuppa then?” Mrs Hudson could be a miracle worker at times, but now, she was grating incessantly on his raw nerves. It is nothing but a bloody phone but no matter how many times he told himself that, hope always prevailed. He picked it up again, vowing to figure out his genius flatmate’s fucked up password. He unlocked the screen, waiting for a calm sense of mind, the tranquil before the password would just fucking kick in. But no such luck. He wasn’t him. He hurled the phone at the stupid smiley face on the antique wallpaper, kicking the coffee table for good measure. He assured his raw mind that he wasn’t going to dwell on the fact that the bloody phone had frustrated him for days, messing up his already confused and desperate mind.  
But it had. And John couldn’t stop the ache in his heart, spreading until all he could feel was pain, sharp, numbing pain because of him. He loved him, goddamnit, but he knew full well that the admission would do him no good, not now. And he had wondered, countless time, what exactly he thought of John. That last thought drove him, again, to try one last combination he knew in the back of his mind would probably not work.  
5683  
LOVE  
The phone buzzed…and it didn’t unlock. He let out another sigh. Well. That was…stupid. His fingers brushed over the numbers, accidental touches, meaningless almost, but he knew better.  
5646  
The lock screen disappeared…and the home screen gleamed. John hadn’t let himself believe that, didn’t know it was possible. It didn’t take him long to realise what he had entered and the revelation sent a sharp, bittersweet throb to his core.  
“Oh Sherlock.”  
5646  
JOHN

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Characters don't belong to me; they're BBC's works of fiction.  
> This is my first attempt at fan fiction; do not hesitate to comment/criticise.


End file.
